“I don’t think that’s a thing.” Before she can absolutely lose it, I say, “Three months.”
“Huh?” she asks, looking at me from over her shoulder.
“Give me three months.”
“To do what?”
“To be married to me.”
“Why on earth would I do that?” Looking exhausted, she takes a seat at the table again and succumbs to eating her pizza once more.
“Because.” When she eyes me, I know I’m going to need more than just that. So, I go in for the kill. “Because you don’t want your brother finding out about your wild night.”
In a flash, her eyes turn murderous, and she slowly says, “You wouldn’t.”
This is risky, really freaking risky. This is something my pa would do—hell, he is doing it to me. But I need her. I need this to work and there’s no way in hell I can tell her why. For one, I don’t know her, and I don’t know if I can trust her. And two . . . well, I need to live with this woman, and I need her to think I’m actually trying to make this marriage work.
So, blackmail it is.
Which, fuck, just makes me realize no matter how much I want it to be different, the apple doesn’t really fall far from the tree.
“I would.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, and the dejected tone of her voice makes me feel bad.
But not bad enough to back away.
“Because don’t you want to know if there could be something between us?”
“Uh . . . no. The last thing I want to be right now is someone’s wife. I want to be single. I want to have fun.”
“Clearly, you’ve never been married to me. I can be fun.”
She scoffs. “Okay. Coming from the man who’d never said more than two words to me before yesterday.”
“Things changed yesterday.”
“So, what are you going to do? Just . . . live here? Share a bed with me? Fuck me? Act like the doting husband?”
“Yes, I’ll be living here, that’s what married couples do. We’ll be sharing a bed because I don’t sleep on the couch. Fucking you . . . well, that’s completely up to you. I’m not going to pressure you on that. But I wouldn’t be opposed. And the doting husband”—I gesture to the pizza—“I think I’m doing an excellent job at that already.”
Her jaw works back and forth, her eyes never lifting from mine.
She’s thinking.
She’s plotting.
Just from that one look. I know this isn’t going to be easy. She’s going to make my life difficult, and no matter what, I’m going to have to be up for the challenge, because the kids need me.
Killian needs me.
Her tongue runs over the front of her teeth and she says, “Fine.”
Now, men, I might not currently be in a serious relationship, and the woman I was with prior to all of this might have been an absolute robot, but I know when a woman says FINE, nothing about the situation is fine.
Absolutely nothing.
There’s a whole lorry to unpack behind that FINE.
“So . . . fine?” I ask.
She smiles and picks up her pizza. Before she takes a bite, she says, “Yeah. Fine.”
I have a sinking feeling nothing about this is going to be fine.
Chapter Eight
CORA
Cora: RED ALERT. RED ALERT. DEFCON 1. NUCLEAR LEVEL. ALL HANDS-ON DECK!!!!
Greer: What the hell is going on? Do you need me to come over?
Stella: Are things not going well with the husband?
Cora: EMERGENCY LADIES IN HEAT MEETING. TOMORROW! GREER’S CLASSROOM. AT LUNCH.
Greer: Oh God, what’s going on?
Stella: Uh . . . so I take it things aren’t going well?
Cora: DO NOT TELL KEIKO!
Greer: We won’t. Is everything okay? The all-caps is making me worried.
Stella: It was nuclear level for me that got me shaking.
Greer: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, Stella.
Stella: If Fireball was involved, I’m DEAD SERIOUS.
Cora: I need you to bring your thinking caps, because we’re about to go to war.
Stella: Gulp Fireball, you nasty mistress.
Greer: Why am I sweating?
Stella: Ditto. Pools of it. Care to give us a hint about what we’re dealing with?
Cora: The Loch Ness Monster.
Stella: I know you’re in a sensitive moment right now, and I appreciate you attempting to characterize Pike, but the Loch Ness Monster is Scottish.
Greer: Oh Stella . . .
Cora: STELLA! You are on my list.
Stella: Nods That’s fair.
With a deep breath, I open the door to the front office of the high school and wave to Norma, the receptionist. I quickly sign in, because, you know, rules, and then I head toward the English wing wearing a heavy coat, baseball cap, and bags under my eyes.